


A Few Hours

by Processpending



Series: What Time Brings [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Belly Rubs, Chubby Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:21:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23770744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Processpending/pseuds/Processpending
Summary: Directly following the events of A Few Months:Geralt gets an opportunity to see more Professor Jaskier and can't resist, even if that means heading to the local tavern with some students.As the night wears on, Geralt finds that Jaskier is still insecure about his softer form and Geralt intends to put those fears to rest once and for all.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: What Time Brings [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712416
Comments: 16
Kudos: 118
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	A Few Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quayla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quayla/gifts).



> Quayla asked: "Holy shit, couldn't there be a tiny little follow up to this gem? Like maybe a slower exploration of Jaskier's body at that inn room Geralt rented?" and then this happened...

“Where did you stash Roach?” There wasn’t much they could do about the desk so with a shrug Jaskier pulled Geralt from the hall and out onto an unfamiliar path that led between the buildings. 

“She’s boarded at the inn I took a room at.” Jaskier gives Geralt a smile that lets him know Jaskier filled in the history behind that room, that he hadn’t missed the little touches Geralt had adorned for him but wisely keeps his mouth shut. 

“You should have brought her, she would have–”

“Professor P!” Jaskier is cut off by an enthusiastic voice, Geralt loosens his fingers where they’re clasped with Jaskier’s, but Jaskier just grips tighter, he’s no intention of hiding their togetherness. 

A young man bounds up, speaking before he’s fully reached them, “We were just headed to– _oh_.” Standing before them now he takes in their clasped hands and Geralt braces himself, hating that his existence is marring Jaskier’s reputation. “Sorry to interrupt, sir.” The man nods to Geralt who just stares surprised.

“No interruption at all! Aleks, this is Geralt, Geralt this is one of my students.” Jaskier’s free hand gestures between the two, Aleks turning a polite smile on Geralt.

“Hello.” The word is bitten off and Aleks seems to be waiting for more before Jaskier swiftly cuts in.

“He’s not of the laurete sort,” Jaskier winks and Aleks laughs, shrugging.

“A group of us were headed to The Infirmary for drinks and were hoping you would join us.”

“I really don’t–”

“Please professor? There’s only a week left of classes and...and we can make it a class like last time.” Geralt doesn’t miss the sudden embarrassment pouring off Jaskier as he shifts next to him. 

Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s hand, drawing the bard’s attention even as he says, “He’ll be there.” Clearly this is something his students enjoy and Jaskier would most likely go if Geralt wasn’t there and he reasons a few hours at the inn wouldn’t be so bad. 

“You should come too!” Aleks offers and now it’s Geralt’s turn to be unsure, though only Jaskier is able to see it in his features.

“Alright, we’ll be there, but the first round is on you lot.” Jaskier says and Aleks agrees readily, saying he’ll meet them there before he turns and sets off back the way he’d come. 

Jaskier waits until Aleks is a fair distance away before looking up at Geralt, “We really don’t have to go.” Geralt knows Jaskier wouldn’t hold it against him if Geralt changed his mind but he couldn’t get the memory of Jaskier surrounded by his students, all so eager for just a moment with him. 

“I...want to.” Geralt finally admitted. Jaskier’s mouth twists to the side as his eyes narrow, searching for the deception in the words but finding none he steps close and rises up on his toes, pressing a chaste kiss to Geralt’s lips. 

“We’ll leave the moment you wish.” Jaskier promises once he’s stepped back. Lacing their hands together once more he starts them in the direction of the tavern but Geralt remains still, pulling Jaskier back around.

“Shouldn’t you…” Geralt glances down to Jaskier’s open doublet, the frayed strings showing that it wasn't just a fashion statement but had obviously been busted open. The chemise underneath is on full display, though it was embroidered as Jaskier’s always were, it still stretches over his belly, barely long enough to be tucked into his pants. 

Geralt wants to take the words back as soon as he's said them, he doesn’t want Jaskier to think he's embarrassed of his softer form, he merely knows the cruelties of men and doesn’t want his own inability to contain himself open Jaskier up to unkind jests. 

Jaskier pulls at the straggled threads, dropping them to the ground when they easily slip free, “Won’t be the first time they’ve seen me bust a doublet.” Jaskier glances up before quickly returning his attention to the frayed seams but Geralt had seen the uncertainty darkening his blue eyes.

“Hmm.” Geralt slips his hand from Jaskier’s, hating the moment of doubt he knows shoots through the bard before he’s slipping his hands in the open front of the doublet and over Jaskier’s wider hips, pulling him as close as his belly allows. “It was a _long_ winter.” Geralt rumbles.

They had never spoken of being explicit, every night they chose each other, the need arising only when the offer to teach at the Academy came. Not only had it occurred to each of them, but both feared the answer the other would give and neither wanted to mar their final days together.

Blue eyes search golden ones as Jaskier admits, “It was longer without you but I longed for no other.” Geralt’s grip momentarily tightens on Jaskier’s hips and the bard thinks they might not make it to the tavern after all if the look of want Geralt is giving him is anything to go by.

Geralt ducks his head, deepening the kiss enough to taste Jaskier before he pulls back and Jaskier has all the answer he needs. Geralt was not one for public displays but words were hard even after all these years and sometimes the only way he could express himself was through the language Jaskier had taught him, touch. 

o~O~o

“This is not The Infirmary.” Geralt slows to a stop, peering up at the wooden sign hanging above the door. 

Jaskier grins as he tugs Geralt’s hand, encouraging him towards the open door where the hum of many voices can already be heard. “That’s what the students call it, they come here to get better when class makes them ill.” Geralt just raises an eyebrow but follows Jaskier in.

They walk into a chorus of, “ _Jaskier!”_ and Geralt sees a group rise and shuffle, freeing a chair before they shuffle again when they see Jaskier towing Geralt. 

“I told you he was coming!” Aleks pushes his way through until he’s standing before Jaskier and Geralt, offering each a mug and a large grin. Jaskier takes a seat, leaving the one against the wall for Geralt, knowing the Witcher’s preferences. 

Introductions are made but Geralt barely notes any of the names, content to watch Jaskier as a professor once more. Geralt hears them first, his Witcher hearing easily picking their whispers from the din of the tavern, 

_...White Wolf…_

_...the song…_

_…together, right?_

_…her Sweet Kiss…._

Geralt slides his gaze to Jaskier but if the bard notices the speculation spreading through his students he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“So, you’ve traveled with Jaskier for years, right?” Geralt turns his golden gaze to the owner of the voice, finding a young woman, red hair escaping from the bun it’d been twisted into.

“Yes.” Geralt knows what’s coming, The Butcher of Blavikan in their midst and all other manner of tales that had spread like demented bedtime stories warning children against him.

“What’s he like? Did he _really_ climb a mountain so tall clouds drifted by as he followed a band of dwarfs to a dragon’s lair?” Geralt’s mouth twitches towards a smile; so they want tales of Jaskier?

Aleks is among the first to figure out Jaskier’s jest that Geralt wasn’t a laurete wasn’t entirely teasing, the first inquirer, Triss as Geralt soon learns, deciphers the game as well. As easy as it is to get Jaskier started on a story with a simple prompt, the students fare better by leading Geralt through the story until he jumps in and corrects Jaskier’s tweaking.

Even without his lute, people gravitate toward Jaskier and Geralt soon sees it wasn’t just muffins sustaining Jaskier through the months. Only dishes meant to be shared are ordered and always kept within easy reach of Jaskier who seems to continuously nibble without realizing it. 

Geralt watches as round after round is bought, no one wanting to miss a chance to buy their beloved teacher one last drink or meal and as the night wears on Jaskier’s belly rounds out, edging his chemise from where it’d barely tucked into his pants. 

“ _Please._ One last time. Who else can say they got to hear you play it with your muse _right there_.” Triss gestures to the muse in question. Geralt had been distracted by the way Jaskier was slumped in his chair, stomach well past the sides of his doublet, resting his latest mug on the curve and wincing every time he replaced it as though its slight weight was even too much.

“I don’t even have–” Jaskier tries to protest but he should know better when surrounded by music students as a lute is produced and passed down the table, leaving no good argument. 

With a put upon sigh that is undermined by the grin it slips past Jaskier straightens in his chair, setting his mug on the table he stretches for the lute, his chemise riding up and giving Geralt a tantalizing glimpse of pale skin. It takes a moment for Jaskier to find a comfortable position with his stomach so bloated but once he does you would never guess he’s several cups in.

“ _When a humble bard…”_ The familiar tune captures the attention of the tavern as Jaskier starts, the students working quickly to clear the table as another angles their chair telling Geralt this is a regular occurrence. With less grace than Geralt is accustomed to, Jaskier uses the chair as a step up onto the table, his voice hardly faltering. 

“ _With Geralt of Rivia_ ….” Jaskier’s eyes settle on Geralt, the smile on his mouth carrying out in his song and Geralt feels all eyes turn to him followed by a hushed murmur as it spreads through the room. Jaskier was, if nothing else, a showman. 

By the end of the song the whole room is singing along and more than one person has taken Jaskier’s call to heart and coins sporadically rain down upon their table, one having the unfortunate landing place of Aleks’ drink. 

“Guess you’re a Witcher now.” Triss teases Aleks as he eyes the coin in the bottom of his cup. 

“Every good Witcher needs his sorceress.” Aleks tries, flashing a grin. Geralt isn’t sure the blush that stains the girl’s cheeks will ever fade but he’s fairly certain neither of them would complain as Triss shifts the slightest bit closer to Aleks. 

Jaskier’s descent is less graceful than his mounting but Geralt is there and before he knows it he finds himself with a lapful of Jaskier and it’s hard not to mark the changes. Where Geralt had once growled about Jaskier’s bony ass, swearing a skeleton was in his lap there’s now a plushness, more Jaskier than lap. Geralt wraps his arm around Jaskier’s waist, cupping the lower swell of his belly, keeping him from sliding to the floor. 

Geralt knows it’s past time to go when Jaskier grows heavy in his arms, the little bit of effort he’d been exerting to keep some of his weight off Geralt’s lap is gone, he’s soft and warm and Geralt knows the next stage is a clingy Jaskier and he knows from experience it’s best to be in their rooms by that stage. 

“Are you ready to go?” Geralt knows Jaskier would agree had he asked at any time this night, but asking now doesn’t pang him, doesn’t feel like he’s robbing Jaskier of something. The same chorus that greeted them escorts them out though this time Geralt’s name is added to the calls. 

“ _You_ made a friend. Or two. Definitely at least two.” Jaskier rambles, nodding to himself so seriously when he finally trails off. Geralt gives a gentle tug to their linked hands, with each step Jaskier was listing further away but even this proves too much as Jaskier comes stumbling back too quickly, tripping into Geralt.

“Owe.” Jaskier pouts, rubbing his aching belly where it’d bumped into Geralt who comes to a stop and eyes the bard. This was going to be a longer walk than either of them can handle at this rate. 

“I should carry you.” Geralt states, eyeing the tipsy bard. 

“No. No no _no_.” The idea seems to sober Jaskier who tries to back away from Geralt as though he expects the Witcher will lunge at him, which in fairness kind of was Geralt’s plan. 

“Jask,” Geralt waits, wondering what argument he’ll offer but even the alcohol doesn’t fully fortify Jaskier against embarrassment and his voice comes out weak. 

“I’m too full to be put over your shoulder," Slender hands cradle his belly protectively. "And...I’m too heavy, you’ll hurt yourself.” Geralt balks at the words, he thought Jaskier understood Geralt wanted him, thin as a sapling or softened and looking cared for. 

For the second time, Geralt finds himself lost for words and does what he hopes will reassure Jaskier, moving forward he scoops Jaskier up into his arms, a yelp echoing down the street as he wraps his arms around Geralt. 

“You’ll never hurt me.” Geralt murmurs before setting off towards his room at the inn. Jaskier is quick to direct them to his rooms, saying the bed is certain to be more comfortable though Geralt thinks it’s an excuse to be carried for a little while longer. 

Geralt relishes the feeling of Jaskier in his arms, one arm hooked around his neck, fingers carding through his hair. “You’re still using the soap I made you.” Jaskier hums, catching the familiar scent on the night air. 

“Eskel was...intrigued by the scent.” Geralt can see Jaskier tucking that bit of information away for later and he has a suspicion that next season will see Eskel with his own curated soaps courtesy of Jaskier. “I used the last of mine today.” 

“I have more for you.” Jaskier offers absently and they lapse into an easy silence.

“You’re muscly.” Jaskier muses, poking Geralt’s chest before his teasing tone drops to a pout. “I’m not muscly anymore, I’m soft.” Jaskier pokes his stomach and frowns when there’s no give, “Usually.” 

Geralt is helpless to the laugh that rumbles from him, Jaskier’s blue eyes bright even in the dark of night as they peer up at him, brow furrowing as he tries to work out if Geralt’s laughing at him. Geralt presses a kiss to his forehead, pleased when Jaskier preens at the attention and nuzzles into Geralt’s chest, his head knocking Geralt’s jaw setting his teeth clacking softly.

Jaskier insists he can walk the flight of stairs up to his room and though Geralt wouldn’t admit it aloud, he’s more than a little grateful as the last thing he wants is to trip on the dark stairs with Jaskier in his arms. Jaskier fumbles with a key before the door opens and he steps inside, walking a path by memory he moves to the other side of the room and starts lighting candles until a soft glow permeates the space.

It’s clearly Jaskier’s space, notebooks and scraps of paper with his familiar scrawl cover the room, his trunk lid has been left open and Geralt spies folded stacks of unfamiliar doublets within. There’s a desk that looks one page away from collapsing under the notebooks and papers Jaskier stacked there and tucked in the corner is a pile of familiar baskets. 

“I’ve been meaning to return those.” Jaskier half laughs the words when he sees where Geralt’s eyes have stopped. “Just take them the last day of class and hope they remember which one is theirs.” Geralt’s eyebrow raises at that, so it wasn’t just Essi bringing Jaskier treats. 

The dwindling alcohol in his system is the only thing shoring up his confidence now that they’re in his room and Geralt is closing the distance between them. It had been one thing to be taken on his desk, fully clothed and riled up from the months apart, but Jaskier knows the look in Geralt’s eye, the look that says he wants to reacquaint himself with Jaskier’s body inch by inch.

The smell of fear quickly overwhelms the scent of parchment and lute oil and Jaskier that had permeated the room. Large, calloused hands cup his cheeks, thumbs rubbing over their roundness as golden eyes look into the depthless blue. 

“I love you Jaskier.” Jaskier’s breath hitches and Geralt hears the stutter of his heart. Jaskier can count the number of times Geralt has said those on one hand with no fingers to spare until today. He didn’t need to hear those words, as lovely as they were, because Geralt showed him in so many other ways, but tonight the simple gesture smooths away the mocking trepidation lurking in the bottom of each cup and plate.

Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt’s waist, going up on his toes he doesn't cringe when his belly presses into Geralt’s toned one as he falls into him, still a little unsteady from the drink. Geralt _hmms_ and pulls him closer, leaning back only when Jaskier needs air.

Geralt wastes no time slipping the doublet off Jaskier’s shoulders, hands slipping under the chemise that is now just this side of too short, each movement revealing glimpses of skin. 

“A piece for a piece.” Jaskier argues, countering Geralt’s hands when they move to pull the tie lacing his pants closed. Golden eyes narrow but he doesn't protest, instead he starts kneading the handfuls that hang over Jaskier’s pants, enjoying that no matter how he moves his hands there’s always more than will fit. 

Jaskier makes short work of the leather jacket and linen shirt underneath, taking care to slip the medallion over Geralt’s ducked head and place it on his desk. Jaskier’s eyes wander over the planes of Geralt’s body, skipping the scars he knows to look for any he doesn’t and finding none he sets about undoing the many buttons between him and Geralt. 

Pants follow boots and underclothes until there’s a pile of cloth at their feet that neither can be bothered with as Geralt encourages Jaskier back onto the bed. Geralt kneels between his spread legs, practically shaking with need but he’d rushed things earlier and tonight he intends to map the new planes of Jaskier’s body with his mouth. 

Jaskier watches Geralt through hooded eyes as the Witcher slinks up his body, pausing to suck on his inner thighs, first one side then the other, ignoring Jaskier’s weeping cock in favor of ghosting his fingers over the stretch marks that curl like vines over his belly. Jaskier tenses under his touch, hating that none of the creams he’s concocted, nor the ones he shamefully asked after have had any affect on the marks.

“Scars are proof that we’ve survived.” Geralt’s words are low and Jaskier wants to blame the tears that prick his eyes on the drink but he knows it’s really the final bit of acceptance he so desperately wanted. Geralt settles himself there, one hand tracing over each line, taking his time while he sucks a belt of hickeys into the pale skin, a reminder that Geralt has seen all of him and wants for nothing more. 

Jaskier’s breaths are stuttering by the time Geralt dips his tongue into Jaskier’s deeper belly button, dragging his tongue up until he’s nibbling Jaskier’s softer chin.

Jaskier’s hand twists in Geralt’s hair, loving the feel of the silky strands slipping through his fingers and with the slightest pull Geralt tilts his head back, baring his neck to Jaskier, complete trust as Jaskier drags his tongue up the sensitive column of his throat. 

Jaskier loosens his grip and Geralt drops his head, swallowing Jaskier’s pants as Geralt nips his lip, slipping his tongue inside. 

“Please...Geralt.” There’s such need in his voice, the words carried on whispered gasps between kisses. 

“How do you want me to take you?” Geralt feels the effect his question has on Jaskier, his length twitching where it’s trapped between their stomachs. Jaskier’s twisting in his arms and Geralt leans back, enjoying the way his belly sways and thighs jiggle as he gets to his knees, grinding his deliciously rounder ass into Geralt who nearly comes at the feel of his dick pressed between those cheeks

Geralt lays himself the length of Jaskier’s back, slicking his fingers in Jaskier’s precome, each stroke of his hand bumping into his soft underbelly. While one hand works Jaskier open, his other hand slips around, palming Jaskier’s stomach, taut and heavy from hours of mindless eating. 

“You sure you’ve got room?” Geralt only half teases, as much as he desires Jaskier the last thing he wants is to cause him pain. Unable to stand the feel of Geralt so close but not yet filling, Jaskier rears back, taking Geralt’s considerable length in one smooth motion, head thrown back as a groan of pleasure rips through him. It’s been months since he’s been filled this way, the food a comforting weight but unable to fill him quite like this.

Geralt sets an easy pace, savoring how Jaskier no longer rocks forward with each of his thrusts, his stockier form keeping him in place. With each roll of his hips Geralt, Jaskier's belly slaps his thighs, a sound that drives Geralt faster and faster, slowing only when he pulls a keening whine from Jaskier, one hand coming up to soothe.

"Don't...stop." Jaskier whines, trying to set his own bruising rhytm. Geralt adjusts his grip, where months ago his hands had nearly spanned the bard's waist, there's now ample hips, pink ghosts of his previous holds reminding Geralt of their

The memory of Jaskier on that desk mere hours ago, belly not yet stuffed and yet still demanding room spurs Geralt on, grip tightening on Jaskier as he holds the smaller man steady, doing exactly as Jaskier asked. The days ahead play out in Geralt's mind, they have a week left of school and he intends to see Jaskier full for each one of them, filling his belly so he has to waddle into class where his students will surely bring him more treats, no doubt splitting open a doublet each day. When classes are over Geralt will take him to a different place every night, plate after plate until he's achingly full, pinned by the sheer amount of food packed in his belly before he'll bring him back here, soothing the ache before he fills him again.

The thought of Jaskier so properly debauched, cared for and filled by him day after day and night after night white's out Geralt's vision as he comes inside Jaskier, the bard following at the feel he'd been missing all winter long, of being profoundly sated.

Jaskier's body goes limp with pleasure, only Geralt's gentle hands keep him from painfully collapsing onto his aching belly as he guides him down onto his side. Geralt stretches out behind Jaskier, knowing he's the only one in any kind of position to get them cleaned up, Jaskier's blue eyes lolling as pleasure still courses through his body, but he wants this, just for a moment. Geralt presses his front into Jaskier's back, draping an arm over a hip that's no longer sharp, he gently rubs soothing paths, surprised at the tightness he still finds. Humming his pleasure at the touch, Jaskier scoots back into the unnatural warmth that Geralt puts off, his rounded ass fitting perfectly against Geralt who rises to the occasion once more.

"Mmm, already? You really are a marvelous creature." Jaskier's words are slurred with sleep and pleasure but that doesn't stop him from wiggling his hips, earning a growl from Geralt. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! This was written crazy fast (which is awesome and a little daunting!)
> 
> Let me know if there's any other thins you'd like to see in this verse. I can't make promises but I'm open to suggestions.
> 
> Comments/kudos/emojis/random outbursts greatly appreciated and highly encouraged!


End file.
